


The Murderer's Daughter

by greenteafiend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mystery, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, OC main character, POV First Person, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteafiend/pseuds/greenteafiend
Summary: It's Sasha's 6th year at Hogwarts, and her father has escaped Azkaban and is on the loose.He's probably after her, so for her own protection she is sent to stay with a certain wizarding family for the Christmas holidays.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

When my grandmother isn’t there to pick me up from Kings Cross, I’m not too worried. I figure she’s probably just running a bit late, so I pick a bench on the muggle side of the platform and sit down to wait with my cat, Cosmic Creepers. He bats at my hand until I scratch him under his chin, before settling himself in my lap. When I stop, he reminds me that my only purpose in life is to give him affection when he wants it by shoving his fluffy black tail in my face. 

“Cat-face, don’t be a nuisance. Behave yourself,” I scold, batting his tail away. A passing woman gives us a funny look—it  _ would  _ appear odd to a muggle to not only have your cat with you at the station, but to be arguing with it. Cosmic Creepers makes a show of curling up into an elegant, fluffy black ball. He’s good at pretending to be dignified when people are watching. 

As I watch my classmates leave with their parents one by one, I start to feel uneasy. Nana has never been this late before…

I wait for an hour, by which time all of the other students are well and truly gone and Cosmic Creepers has given up on pretending to be dignified in favour of meowing and pawing at my hair to demonstrate his disapproval of dinner being pushed back. 

I decide to make my way home on my own; Nana probably just picked up an extra cleaning shift and the letter informing me hadn’t arrived before we left the castle.

Luckily I have my oyster card in my purse and not shoved somewhere at the bottom of my trunk. I make my way over to the Northern Line and catch the next train that comes by. 

It’s times like these that I wish we could afford an owl (not that I don’t love Cosmic Creepers), or that electronics like cell-phones worked at Hogwarts. Dead useful, they’d be. Not that I could afford a cell-phone anyway… oh well. 

I change trains twice and eventually end up at Gallows Corner, which is a stone’s throw from our tiny place.

By then, the sun is well on its way down, sucking away all tiny traces of warmth with it. The strap of my trunk cuts into my hand, and my other arm is occupied cradling Cosmic Creepers—he becomes notoriously lazy and floppy when his meal time is not adhered to. Well, what he  _ thinks _ his mealtime should be anyway. 

When our flat comes into view, I get a funny feeling in my gut. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end just like they do at Hogwarts right before someone tries to hex me. Or trip me. Or main me in some way—I’m not very popular and rather an easy target.

Not an easy target in that I’m useless at defending myself—I’m actually pretty good at Defence against the Dark Arts—but that people find it easy to feel righteous anger and hate towards me on account of who my sperm donor is. I try not to take it personally. I actually suspect that my strength at DADA is a by-product of needing to be constantly vigilant against the other students that attend boarding school with me; self-preservation saw me avidly learning every protective charm and defensive spell in the book. 

I’m exaggerating; it’s not so bad anymore.  At first school was horrible, culminating in  _ the incident _ at the end of second year, but then from about fourth year onwards, people sort of accepted that I wasn’t going to murder anyone or do anything evil so now I’m generally left alone.

But I digress.

I make sure my wand is tucked up my sleeve within easy reach, and cautiously make my way up the stairs to the front door. 

Cosmic Creepers meows plaintively and wiggles out of my grasp. I let him go and he lands nimbly on his feet. 

I go to put the key in the lock, but the door swings open. Cosmic Creepers hisses, his back arched and his hair stood on end, streaking towards me to scratch my leg. His claws snare in my woolen tights, ripping a hole in them. Excellent. 

_ “Oy! _ You know how I feel about holes in my tights.” 

He just stares at me, unremorseful. His message couldn’t be clearer even though he didn’t say anything;  _ don’t go inside. _

I gulp uneasily and leave my trunk on the stoop. Something definitely isn’t right, Nana is pretty paranoid and she would  _ never _ leave the front door unlocked. 

“Sorry, Cat-face, I’ve got to go see if Nana’s okay.” 

Cosmic Creepers meows and paces in front of the door restlessly, but he doesn’t follow me as I step inside.

I tread lightly down the hallway, I peek around the corner into the living room, and then I gasp.

“Nice of you to finally join us daughter, you’re late.” The voice is ice cold and abrasive. 

Nana is sitting stiffly on our old sofa, her eyes glazed over, unseeing, and there is a man standing over her, wand leveled at her neck. 

I’ve never met him before, but I recognise him instantly. The reason that I’m shunned in the wizarding world; the sperm donor. I expected him to be taller. 

My own eyes stare back at me from his face; slate grey and emotionless. He is dressed immaculately in a three-piece pinstripe suit, with a cobalt blue tie. He’s clean shaven, with his dark collar-length hair oiled and neatly slicked back.

He wears his thirteen-year imprisonment in Azkaban in the lines that creased his face, the hollowness of his cheeks, and the gauntness of his body, betraying the affluent facade his clothes were trying to sell. 

“ _ Crucio,”  _ he says calmly, pointing his wand at me.

I’m on fire. Every bone in my body is being ground into dust, my skin is being sliced into ribbons. I can’t speak, I can’t think, all I can do is  _ feel. _

Just as suddenly as it started, it stops. 

I’m on the floor, face down and shaking. I didn’t realise I fell over. 

“Come now, how am I to know you’ve learned your lesson if I can’t hear you? Once more with a bit of feeling.  _ Crucio. _ ”

I burn, and writhe, and break to pieces, but I don’t scream. I can’t draw breath to scream. I duly register that Cosmic Creepers has ventured into the room and is angrily hissing and spitting at my father as he laughs hysterically. 

When the pain finally stops, it’s because Nana has snapped out of whatever magically induced trance she’s been in and tackled my father to the floor.

I shake my head to try and clear it, trying to get my trembling muscles to obey me and  _ get up. _

“You  _ bitch! _ ” my father screams, clutching at his face—she’s scratched him. “ _ Crucio! _ ” he yells, but this time it’s aimed at her. Nana drops off him and falls to the ground, writhing in pain. She  _ screams _ . 

Cosmic Creepers pounces, sinking his claws into the sperm donor’s back and biting viciously. The sperm donor lashes out with a furious roar and manages to clip Cosmic Creepers with his fist, dislodging him. Cosmic Creepers lands on his feet, and quickly darts under the coffee table when the sperm donor aims a savage kick in his direction. 

It distracts him enough that the spell on Nana breaks, and she crumples into a motionless heap.

“ _ No! _ ” I hear the anguished scream, I feel it tear from my throat, but still it surprises me. In that moment I want to  _ destroy  _ him.Something boiling hot and furious erupts from my very bones, and it lifts my sperm donor and bodily and flings him across the room. He hits the wall hard enough to make a dent. 

_ Oh, Merlin. _

My heart stops, and all the blood drains from my face. I haven’t cast any accidental magic since The Incident. 

Panic is trying to bubble up, trying to steal my breath away, but I push it down violently because the sperm donor is getting up. I can’t afford to lose it. 

Although I know objectively that him getting back up is a bad thing, I can’t but be relieved that I haven’t killed him. It would have been good if I’d managed to break an arm, or a leg, or something—something that might actually give me an edge over him—but such is accidental magic. 

“ _ Well, well, well _ , it appears we may have more in common than I thought.” He runs a hand over his hair to slick it back into place, before deftly straightening his tie.

I fight the urge to throw up. I never  _ ever  _ want to be  _ anything  _ like him. 

He casually twirls his wand between his fingers and cocks his head to one side, considering me carefully. 

“Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

He springs. I barely have enough time to raise my wand and rattle off a shield charm, before we are duelling. 

I am  _ way _ out of my depth. 

I dart around like a maniac trying to dodge the spells he sends at me, casting protegos for the ones I can’t. A particularly vicious curse shatters my shield and whips past my face, slicing my cheek. Blood drips down my face, wet, sticky, and distracting.

The next spell he sends at me is a ball of fire. I dive-roll out of the way behind the armchair, but I’m not quick enough because it still singes the side of my leg.

It’s a very powerful curse; it goes right through the wall and into the kitchen with the crack of splintering wood and a rain of plaster. 

I crouch behind the armchair, desperately trying to think of something I can do while the kitchen goes up in flames, but then the flames start  _ reaching _ for me and I have to abandon cover or be consumed by what I realise must be cursed fire. 

Before the sperm donor has the opportunity to react to my reemergence, there is a huge  _ CRACK,  _ and then there are two more people in the room. They both level their wands at the sperm donor, and fire. 

There is another  _ CRACK,  _ and he disappears before the spells can touch him. 

The two people that apparated into my living room turn towards me, but I ignore them in favor of rushing to Nana’s side. Is she breathing? Should I turn her over? Or could that make things worse. I don’t know.  _ I don’t know.  _

As I check for a pulse, my finger shaking where they hold Nana’s wrist, I vaguely register the that one of the new arrivials has conjured up a silvery patronus, which prances out of the room.

“We need to isolate this house before the fire spreads. Get them out of here,” he jerks his head towards Nana and I, “I’ll start casting the containment charms,” he barks before disaparating.

The fire has spread upstairs, and is quickly closing in on us in the living room.

“I’m an auror, I’m here to help—” he’s cut off by yet another  _ CRACK  _ of apparition.

My sperm donor is back.

He grabs my arm, and wrenches me away from Nana, and then I am being squeezed through an impossibly small space. So this is what successful apparition feels like? It’s not pleasant.

When we arrive at our intended destination, I land hard and collapse to my knees. 

“ _ Expelliarmus.”  _ My wand flies out of my grip and into his hand. I am defenseless.

“ _ Crucio.”  _ I flinch, expecting to feel pain, but instead I hear someone else screaming. 

I look up.

We’re in a study. I’d say it is cosy if it wasn’t for the situation. The walls are a deep purple, and there is a solid looking desk with a typewriter and papers strewn all over it.

Behind the desk there is a squashy leather chair, along with a bookcase filled with what appears to be old newspapers. At the other end of the room there is a lit fireplace, filling the study with gambolling light and heat. There is also a camcorder and tripod set up in one corner.

In the centre of the room there is a little girl with red hair. I recognise her instantly—Lily Luna Potter. Harry Potter’s daughter. She is a second year at Hogwarts, twelve years old, in Gryffindor. Her wrists and ankles are bound together tightly with rope. It cuts into her flesh sharply as she thrashes in pain. 

My brain stutters to a standstill—I don’t know how to process what I’m seeing. 

My sperm donor ends the curse, and Lily’s screams quiten into gut-wrenching sobs.

“M-my Dad with c-come for me,” she chokes out defiantly. 

“Sweetheart, that’s  _ precisely  _ what I’m hoping for.” His tone is polite, but the look on his face is malicious. 

He casts  _ “silencio”  _ on Lily Luna Potter before turning his attention to me. 

My heart beats so fast it feels like it might beat straight out of my chest—I’m brimming with adrenalin. My shoulders pull back so my spine is straight, one of my hands going to my cheek to try and wipe away the blood I can feel dripping there. It’s instinctual, a force of habit, to try and present as strong a facade as possible when confronting someone hostile. I force myself to take a deep even breath to calm down, schooling my face into a blank mask. Panacking is not the way out of this situation. 

I get to my feet and meet my sperm donor’s stare head on.

He is the one to break the silence.

“You acquit yourself well, daughter,” he drawls, looking me up and down. 

“Thank you,” I reply robotically. A lifetime of politeness is difficult to break even in the face of a murderer. 

He gives a short bark of amused laughter at my answer. 

“You are the splitting image of your mother. Except the eyes of course, has anyone ever told you that?”

The shrug I give him is jerky. I’ve seen pictures of my mother so I’ve seen for myself that what he says is true. 

“I still haven’t forgiven her for what she did, so when I saw you… Well, I’m afraid I took it out on you. You must take care not to set off my temper in the future, child. I’m not in control of myself when I’m angry. Rest assured, I don’t want any harm to come to  _ you,” _ he says pleasantly. This information does not comfort me in the slightest. 

“That’s… okay,” I reply. 

I really isn’t, but I’m not about to say that when he has his wand pointed at me, and just told me to take care least I set off his temper. 

“Why did you bring her here?” I ask cautiously, my gaze flickering over to Lily Luna Potter.

“Miss Potter is here to pay for the sins of her father. He locked me away in Azkaban to  _ rot.  _ He needs to be _ punished.  _ I’ve spend thirteen years thinking about how best to hurt him, and what a happy coincidence is it for me that Miss Potter sounds so delightful when she screams.” His eyes slide back to Lily, but Lily is looking at me with tears in her eyes,  _ pleading. _

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _

It’s up to me to save her. Up to me to save  _ us.  _ Although he doesn’t seem to want me dead, he’s liable to kill me accidentally in a fit of rage, and I have a funny feeling that I won’t like what whatever has planned for me. 

I can’t do anything without a wand, and he has my wand in his left hand. I have to think of a way to get him to give it back to me. 

He raises his arm as if he is going to start hurting her again, so I blurt “How about me? Why did you bring me here?” 

He pauses and turns his attention back towards me. It makes me want to shrink down into nothing.

“Because you are  _ my  _ daughter.  _ Mine. _ You are my blood and you belong with me, not that muggle bitch.” I internally shudder with revulsion everytime he claims me as his. 

“Y-you mean my grandmother?” I ask.

He flips like a switch. “You aren’t to call her that anymore! She is nothing to us!” he screams in my face, looming over me. 

“O-okay,” I stutter, palms raised in surrender. 

“Where are we now anyway?” I ask hurriedly. The longer I keep him talking, the long I keep him from hurting Lily. The longer I have to think of some way to get out of this situation.

“We are at the home of an associate of mine. Once I’ve left Harry Potter the body of his daughter, we’ll escape the country and I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me? But what about Hogwarts?” I ask.

“I am a thousand times more skilled to teach you magic. There is nothing those professors can teach you that I can’t, and many more things I can teach that they can’t. Things their puny little minds couldn’t even comprehend.” 

“Like dark magic?” I ask. I infuse reverence into my voice that I don’t feel, and force the muscles in my face to look eager and excited. I have a feeling that my father responds well to flattery.

“Yes.”

An idea pops into my head. “When will you start teaching me, father?” I ask. He looks pleased with my reply, and I feel bile rising in my throat in response.

“As soon as I am finished with Lily Potter—” 

“Couldn’t you start teaching me now?” I press. “I’ve never cast the Cruciatus curse before, they don’t teach it at school.” To my own ears I do not sound enthused, but Lily Potter is looking at me like I’m a monster so I suppose I must be convincing enough. 

“You are right, daughter! Who knows when we will have another gustr for you to practice on?” he looks proud. He throws me back my wand.

“Go on then. The incantation is  _ crucio, _ and the wand movement is like this—” he brings his wand down in a violent slashing movement that makes me flinch even though he isn’t actually casting anything. 

I raise my wand nervously and clear my throat, before whirling around and casting the first spell that comes to mind. Unfortunately it’s the jelly-leg jinx, but it’s better than nothing.

The sperm donor imbalances and topples over with an enraged shout. I go to move forward, to grab Lily, but then everything becomes… fuzzy.

I am floating on a cloud of vague untraceable happiness… I’m perfectly relaxed, all my worries and cares gently wiped away, like soap suds on a pane of glass. 

I am dimly aware that the sperm donor has come to stand in front of me.

“It seems you’re more like your mother than I thought.” He sounds disappointed. “ _ Finite incantatem.”  _ I can hear Lily again, she’s sobbing, but it doesn’t bother me. It barely touches me where I am, far above the world. 

The sperm donor’s authoritative voice reverberates through my empty brain:  _ Turn to look at the girl. _

I do.

_ Raise your wand. _

I do.

_ Cast the cruciatus curse… _

Everything screeching to a halt. I blink, and Lily’s terrified features swim into focus in front of me. I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to hurt her.

_ CAST THE CRUCIATUS CURSE!  _ The command slams into my brain with the force of a truck. My knuckles are white with the force of my grip on my wand. My whole body shakes, and I can’t tell if I’m struggling to cast the spell, or struggling not to. 

“Cr—cru—”

_ Don’t be like him. Don’t be a monster like him.  _ Another voice in my head, echoey and distant as if they are calling from a different room. 

The weight of the world crashes back onto my shoulders as my father’s repugnant presence slips out of my mind.

I whirl around and slash a banishing curse at him. He goes flying into the desk, sending paper flying in all directions.

We need to leave,  _ now. _

I’ve only had one lesson at aparating so far, and I’ve never side-along aparated anyone, but know that I have to. It’s the only way Lily Potter and I are leaving this place alive.

I grab her arm in a vice-like grip and turn on the spot, trying to focus on the three D’s, but I can only really think about one: destination.

Home. I want to go  _ home. _

We squeeze through that impossible pressure, and as soon as we get out to the other side, I know something has gone wrong. 

The first thing I notice is the roaring. It’s so  _ loud.  _ We’re on the street in front of my flat, and it is well and truly on fire now.

There are dozens of wizards flitting about, obviously trying to contain the blaze, but those closest to us who have noticed our arrival are staring at me in horror.

I look down and sure enough my left side is saturated with bright red blood. It hurts. It hurts a lot. I’ve gone and splinched myself. 

My head goes light as a blinding rain of sparks falls across my vision, and from one second to the next, it feels like I blink, and then I’m on the ground.

I see the roof of my home collapse, the bang is so concussively loud it hurts my ears, and then my eyelids are too heavy to keep open.

I hear someone yelling Lily Potter’s name.

My last thought is of my Nana—her lined, smiling face flashing across the backs of my eyelids—and I wish with all my remaining strength for her to be okay. 

And then I pass out. 


	2. Chapter 2

My mother committed suicide when I was three by hanging herself from the rafters in our house.

I didn’t really understand what was going on at the time, I didn’t have the capacity to grasp the permanence of it, but I remember that she kissed me before she turned to climb the stairs, leaving a perfect plum-coloured imprint on my cheek.

I remember the smell of burnt sugar cookies—we’d been baking—and getting impatient when she didn’t come back down. 

I remember the fall of her hair over her face, the way her eyes stared but didn’t seem to see me. How she wouldn’t acknowledge me no matter how loudly I screamed or cried, no matter that the fire alarm had gone off, filling the house with awful noise. 

I still dream about it sometimes. 

Nana believes I can’t remember what happened because I was so little. I let her, and I wish it were true. 

Aside from that horrible memory, I don’t have any others of my early childhood. I was told by Nana that the sperm donor was around when I was extremely little, but then he got in trouble with the law and he left us, never to return. I only found out how enormous and significant that trouble was when I turned eleven. 

Anyway, I’ve lived with my grandmother for as long as I can remember. She basically raised me all on her own because we haven’t really got any other extended family.

Nana used to work as a seamstress when she was younger, but then her eyesight got poorer and she got arthritis in her hands. She got made redundant because she was no longer dexterous, but that was all before I was born.

She’s worked as a cleaning lady for as long as I can remember, so for as long as I can remember money has been tight in our household, but Nana did her very best to shield me from the worst of it. There was always food and I always had clothes to wear.

She always told me from when I was very small that I needed to finish school, get really good grades, and go to university—she wants better for me than she had for herself. 

One day I’ll have a good job and I’ll support us so Nana can retire. I can’t wait til I turn seventeen because I’ll be able to do all the cleaning with a flick of my wand. I really want to make sure that Nana never has to clean again. 

I suppose you’re wondering what my father did that got him in trouble with the law, and why I only found out when I was eleven?

As it turns out, he’s infamous in the wizarding world for being a mass murderer. He terrorized the wizarding community for years and years, murdering witches and leaving taunting notes for aurors to find near their bodies. 

I had no idea I was a witch until a letter showed up in our mailbox, let alone that my father was a mass murderer whom I happen to share my name with.

Alexander Payne. That’s him, and I’m Alenandra, although Nana calls me Sasha for short. I wish everyone would, I vastly prefer Sasha, even without the serial-killer connotations of Alexandra. I’m not really on a first name basis with anyone in the wizarding world though, let alone a nickname basis. The professors call me ‘Miss Payne,’ and no one else ever says my name at all.

It’s actually a little sad for me thinking back to when I was eleven. I was so enthusiastic. So excited. So  _ naive. _

I remember I wasn’t even worried about making friends; I had loads of friends at primary school and had never had any issues making friends before. 

I was always a glass-half-full, optimistic, somewhat extroverted sort of kid.

I realised that I may need to worry a little when my name was called at the sorting hat ceremony.

“Payne, Alexandra!” A strange sort of just fell over the great hall and hundreds of eyes stared at me, probing and suspicious. My eleven-year-old self squared her shoulders and stepped forward to put on the sorting hat. 

I didn’t really understand very much about the houses when the hat slid over my eyes. I was startled when it started whispering in my ear.

_ “Hmm… very interesting. Your upbringing has made you ambitious and resourceful; though you aren’t particularly cunning … at the same time I can see that you have a healthy dose of bravery and loyalty… Very hard-working too. Not a bad mind… Where to put you, where to put you… how interesting,” _

“What?” I thought back.

“ _ I am very rarely so torn over where to sort a student. It is even rarer still for me to be torn between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, of all houses _ .”

“What?” I thought back.

“ _ I am very rarely so torn over where to sort a student. It is even rarer still for me to be torn between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, of all houses _ .”

“I don’t really know anything about any of the houses so I don’t really mind where you put me,” I thought back.

I was very aware that I had been sitting on the stool for significantly longer than any of the students before me, during which time whispers in the hall gained volume around me.

_ “I’ve completely sifted through your mind but I am still torn,”  _ murmured the hat, “ _ So tell me your preference child, what do you hope to gain from your time here at Hogwarts?” _

Images flashed across my mind, images that I’m sure the sorting hat saw. I wanted to have fun, I wanted to make friends, I wanted to learn about magic, but above all, I wanted to  _ succeed _ .

“Somewhere I can do well? I want to be able to look after my Gran and for that I need to be successful,” I thought back carefully.

“ _ In that case I think it better be _ … SLYTHERIN!” the hat yelled the last word. For the students that went before me, each table had erupted in cheers when someone was sorted into their house. After my sorting everyone was silent.

Feeling very bewildered and very much lost, I hesitantly made my way over to my new house. It was the smallest of the four.

No one made space for me to sit so I had to walk awkwardly to the very end of the long table, blushing furiously. I sat at the edge and the people closest to me all shuffled away as if I had some sort of communicable disease. 

Everyone’s strange reaction to me was brought home even more when the next person was sorted.

“ _ Potter, James, _ ” was sorted into Gryffindor as soon as the hat touched his head and the table at the opposite end of the hall went off quite literally, the cheering and yelling and screaming went on for a good five minutes straight. There were even a few people from other houses cheering. It almost felt like they were trying to make up for my house’s underwhelming reaction to me.

Even though I’m sure the feast that was served to us that evening was delicious, I found myself suddenly without an appetite.

I picked at a few roast potatoes and half-heartedly tried to eat a slice of treacle tart (my favourite), but my mind was too busy whirling, trying to figure out why everyone acted so strange towards me.

I followed the prefects to our dorm room along with all the other first year Slytherin students. There weren’t many of us; Slytherin had fewer new students than any of the other houses.

The other first-years side-eyed me and made sure to keep their distance.

We descended down a few staircases and just as the prefects led us around a corner, someone grabbed my elbow and yanked me hard, slamming me against the cold stone walls.

It was a boy, much older than me, and he had his wand pointed in my face. There was a girl at his elbow who also had her wand out. They looked very similar, same blonde hair, same cornflower blue eyes; I figured they must be siblings or even twins.

“Do you know who we are you little bitch?” snarled the boy in my face. I was shocked. No one had ever spoken to me like that, and all I could do was shake my head. Little did I know that I would become thoroughly inured to all kinds of insult over the following years.

“I’m Andrew Morris and this is my sister, Alana Morris. Ring any bells?”

“N-no, I’ve never met you b-before,” I stuttered.

“Your father murdered our mother when we were seven,” supplied Alana with narrowed eyes. I didn’t know what they expected me to say. I was utterly shocked. The only thing I knew about my father at that point was his name and that he was never around.

“I’m s-sorry-” I managed to mutter but then they cut me off.

“We’re here to get one thing straight,” said Andrew, all business.

“We’re keeping both our eyes on you and if you take one step out of line, we will be there to punish you,” said Alana. I noticed that she had a prefect badge pinned to her chest.

“So you better keep to yourself and watch your back because Alana would take any excuse to get revenge,” added Andrew.

Andrew cast some sort of spell on me and suddenly I was as rigid as a plank and unable to move. They left me there, and that’s how I spent my first night at Hogwarts, propped up against a wall.

  
  


The weeks that followed were awful. I was tripped in hallways, hexed during meals, and I had silencio cast on me so I couldn’t say the password to get into the common room. Basically, the other kids bullied me relentlessly. Well, not the kids my own age. At that point they were terrified of me, just the older ones.

I eventually figured out the extent of my father’s crimes (thanks Hogwarts library) and it made me feel even worse, like I deserved everything that was happening to me.

Alexander Payne had murdered dozens upon dozens of women. And I was attending school with students whose lives had been directly affected by his actions.

Fifth year Amelia Mac – that man killed her older sister. She would have turned twenty-four that year.

Seventh year Liam Inverness – that man killed his Aunt. She worked as a primary school teacher at a muggle school.

Third year David Thompson – that man killed his Grandmother. His Grandfather was so heart-broken that he passed away not long after.

I compiled a list with all the names of that man’s victims. It was shamefully long. Like a nervous tick I couldn’t help but read it, over and over, until I didn’t need to read the names anymore because they were firmly entrenched in my memory.

It became a habit of mine to recite their names and ages before I went to sleep, all fifty-seven of them. Maybe I felt that if I atoned enough for what he did, people would forgive me for existing.

Sometimes I dreamed about those women, I’d looked at all their photographs enough for their smiling images to be imprinted onto the back of my skull. Those dreams are almost worse than the ones about my mother.

I don’t really blame the other girls in my dormitory for keeping their distance. They were probably frightened that they’d be treated like me if we were friends, or that I was a crazy murderess in the making like my father.

On top of all of that, to say the Transfiguration Professor took an instant disliking to me would be a gross understatement. Professor Kingsford. My classmates quickly caught on that anything that went wrong in the transfiguration classroom could be blamed on me, no matter how unlikely or impossible, and that Professor Kingsford would turn a deaf ear to anything they said to me and a blind eye to any rouge spells sent in my direction.

Professor Kingsford was the head of Gryffindor house and outrageously competition, so he gave my housemates another reason to ostracise me by almost single-handedly ensuring I personally lost Slytherin the most points that first year. We came dead-last for the house cup.

I’ve left the transfiguration classroom nearly in tears more times than I can count with more detentions than I can count. 

I probably would have packed it all in and sent an owl to Nan begging to come home and go to a regular muggle school if I wasn’t so afraid of disappointing her, and of becoming a failure.

I knew what my future would be like if I went home, and it wasn’t pretty. I’d probably end up cleaning right beside Nan.

Of course there’s nothing wrong with making an honest living cleaning, but to be handed the opportunity to become a witch and to master magic, only to throw it all away because of an unpleasant revelation about a man I’d never even properly met… it seemed childish and made me feel ungrateful for all the hard work my grandmother had put into making sure I could go.

When I got my letter for such a fancy prestigious school she’d cried tears of joy because she was so happy that I was being set on a path that would be better and easier than hers.

“This is your chance Sasha. Make sure you don’t waste it,” she said to me, incredulous that such a great school had free tuition.

She worked extra late night shifts for months to get together the money to buy me my school supplies.

Nan had been making sacrifices all her life to make things better and easier for me; I knew I just had to stick it out to honour her sacrifice. 

Hogwarts was my chance to be something more, and my ambition to become successful enough to support my Nan was bigger than all the negatives.

It helped that I adored magic, and that it seemed to come much more easily to me than muggle school ever did.

I grew thicker skin and put my Slytherin resourcefulness to use. Taking it on the chin became the mantra I lived by.

I figured out that keeping my emotions in check, not allowing myself to show that I was affected outwardly helped a lot. If it seemed like you didn’t care that someone was insulting you, they were a lot more likely to lose interest. Sometimes I managed to even fool myself into thinking I actually didn’t care. Plus, when every person you encounter is watching your every move for signs that you’re a psychopathic killer, expressing negative emotions outwardly is… not a good idea.

I found a good cupboard to sleep in when I got locked out of my dorm and I kept my head down and used the quieter castle passages where there were less people.

I lied through my teeth about having friends and enjoying myself when I went home for the holidays and glossed over awkward pauses by showing Nan school work I got good grades on.

I couldn’t bear to tell Nan about everything horrible my father had done. At first I think I was anxious that she’d hate me and reject me like everyone else, and then the years passed and it seemed silly to bring it up after so long.

She already had so much to worry about; I decided that my father’s legacy was a burden I could shoulder on my own.

Second year was slightly less terrible than first year aside from  _ the incident _ , and then in third year things got much better because the Morris Twins graduated and Nan got me Cosmic Creepers.

And so I kept my head down, did my school work, and managed to make some entirely superficial acquaintances in my house who would occasionally deign to greet me during class and at meal times. Everyone else mostly continued to ignore my existence which was lonely, but suited me fine all the same. 

And then I went home for the Christmas Holidays in my sixth year and nearly became my father’s fifty-eighth victim.

  
  


When I come to, I have a splitting headache and I don’t know where I am. I’m lying on a bed in sparse room with white walls.

“I see you’ve come to Miss Payne,” I jolt in shock and snatch up my wand from where it appears to have been placed beside me. This makes my head hurt even worse, and my left side ache horribly. There is a man seated beside my bed—I don’t recognise him. I try to speak, but my throat is too dry, I have to swallow a few times before I can get any words out.

“Where’s my nan?” my voice is raspy from disuse.

“You’re both at St Mungo’s,” I let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t in the burning house, that auror must have gotten her out. Thank Merlin.

“I’m an auror and I’m here to take your statement.” The man is one of those nondescript sort of people that you’d forget what they look like as soon as they’re out of your sight because they’re so average. Average build, average height, bland blue eyes with bland brown hair.

“My statement?”

“About what happened yesterday, you just need to answer a few questions.” 

The last thing I want to do is answer questions. My head is throbbing and I want to go back to sleep, but I figure I should probably help. 

“Alright,” I say wearily, hoping he doesn’t have too many questions to ask.

“Here, drink this first,” says Chapman, passing me a glass of water

My muscles ache in protest as I move to sit up, and my left side feels like it’s on fire, but I do my best to ignore it. Water sounds really good, so I gulp down the whole glass he gives me.

He waves his wand and an acid green quill stands to attention on the bedside table. 

“Let’s start with easy questions, what’s your full name?”

“Alexandra Payne,” my eyes slide to the quill that is already scribbling very quickly across the parchment. 

“Ignore the quill, Miss Payne, if you please.” I struggle to focus my attention back on him. 

“Do you know where your father was holding you and Miss Potter captive?”

“No.” The word falls magically from my lips.

“Tell me in detail what exactly happened when you saw him.”

“I walked into my house and he cast the cruciatus curse on me.” I clasp my hand over my house in surprise.

“D-did you put something in my—” He cuts me off.

“That’s  _ awful,  _ what happened after that?” The way he says the word awful makes it sound like he doesn’t really think it’s awful.

“H-he wasn’t happy that I wasn’t screaming in pain so he cast the curse on my again, I don’t know how long for. My grandmother stopped him. She tackled him and scratched his face.”

“Ahh, yes, your grandmother. She is a muggle, is she not?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“I got out my wand and tried to stun him. He blocked, we duelled for a bit, he set the house on fire, and then the aurors showed up…”

“So you aren’t secretly in cahoots with your father?” 

“No! Of course not!” He almost looked disappointed. 

“Tell me more about your mother. I understand that she fell in love with ALexander Payne and that they got married?”

“I suppose so, I wasn’t born yet when that happened—”

“Is your mother still in love with him?”

“My mother is  _ dead.” _

“How did she die? Was she murdered by your father?” Chapman has this eager, greedy look on his face like he’s just stumbled across gold or something. I really don’t want to tell him what happened to my mother, but the words are ripped from my lips anyway.

“She committed suicide.” I point my wand in Chapman’s face.

“ _ SIlencio.  _ I think you aren’t an auror. What kind of auror can’t block a pathetic silencio from a bedridden sixth year? I think you ask too many ridiculous questions and I’m certain you spiked my drink with Veritaserum because I would never say so much of my own volition to someone so blatantly unprofessional!” I am very mad and Chapman is looking as me like I  _ am  _ mad, which only makes me  _ madder.  _ That probably wasn’t even his real name. 

I snatch up the parchment and scan what has been noted so far. 

_ ‘Alexandra Payne has eyes just like her father’s—cold and calculating. From one glance this author can see that there is darkness in Miss Payne’s soul waiting for an avenue to be released. Was her father’s escape the trigger that her latent dark nature required? Or did she turn to the dark side long before, was she the mastermind behind Alexander Payne’s seemingly impossible flight from Azkaban? Miss Payne claims her father tortured her, but this author believes that—” _

Chapman snatches it back and then the door to the room bangs open, revealing several real aurors. I can tell they’re real because one of them was none other than Harry Potter himself.

Chapman paled. I probably would too if Harry Potter was looking at me like that; with utter loathing.

And then Chapman disapperated with a crack, leaving me alone with the saviour of the wizarding world as we know it, along with several other aurors. 

Harry Potter looked exhausted. There was a smudge of soot across his forehead and he had deep bags under his eyes, like he’s had a few sleepless nights. He’d been the auror in my house who’d sent the patronus I suddenly recognize. 

“Security shouldn’t have let him through,” Harry Potter growls, and I can’t help but recoil despite myself. He’s intimidating. He turns his attention towards me. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” 

Words fall magically from my mouth. “He spiked my water with veritaserum and asked me a bunch of questions about what happened with that man and wrote horrible things about me with his stipid green quill—” I take a breath “—is Lily Potter okay?”

Mr Potter doesn’t look surprised; I suppose not much can faze you when you’ve survived the killing curse more than once.

“She’s okay,” Mr Potter confirms. While I deflate in relief, Mr Potter turns to the other aurors and murmurs some instructions too low for me to hear. They all nod and leave, probably to carry out some secret auror tasks. 

Mr Potter steps further into the room and shuts the door behind him. He waves his wand and mutters an incantation at it before taking a seat where Mr Chapman had been.

“I’m Harry Potter—” he says, and then I cut him off. 

“I know,” I blurt out. He raised an eyebrow. “Er, sir,” I add belatedly. His lips twitched like he’s trying not to frown too deeply. 

Is there some other, more respectful, way I’m meant to address him? I can’t think of anything but sir. 

“I’ve come to collect your statement about what happened if you’re up to it. Are you still under the effects of veritaserum?” he asks.

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you prefer to wait until it’s worn off?” he asks politely. I can tell he wants me to say I don’t mind.  __

“Yes. I have a splitting headache, my side aches, and I would like to go back to sleep, but at the same time I feel you’d better go ahead and get my statement now.”

“Those are rather contradictory statements,” he replies after a beat.

“I don’t want there to be any mistaking the fact that I had nothing to do with that man’s escape and his actions thereafter. I don’t want anyone to have any reason to doubt my un-involvement, including wondering what I could be hiding if I were to refuse to be questioned by you under the influence of veritaserum.”

Both of Mr Potter’s eyebrows are close to disappearing into his hairline.

I blush—I never would have said so much if it weren’t for that bloody potion. It’s actually very violating to be forced to blurt out the truth. On the bright side, without the potion I never would have sounded so eloquent.

“Very well then,” he replies. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.” 

I relate everything in the most expedient fashion possible. Mr Potter listens calmly thoughout, injecting the odd question for clarification every now and then, like; “how did you know the man was your father if you’ve never seen him before?” and “how did you know the fire was cursed?” 

And then I got to the part about Lily Potter. I notice his eyes darken in anger and his fists clench in his lap as I explain what happened to her. 

“—and then I guess I splinched myself. I’d never apparated before—we’ve only had one lesson so far. I’m just really glad I didn’t splinch Lily too.” 

“Thank you for telling me that, Miss Payne,” says Mr Potter. I shrug.

“Can I see my grandmother?” I ask. For the first time since entering the room, Mr Potter looks uncomfortable. I feel a leaden weight of dread drop into my stomach.

“She  _ is  _ okay, right? There were aurors in my house; someone got her out, didn’t they?”

“Yes, your grandmother is here in the hospital, but I’m afraid she’s in a very delicate condition.”

“What happened? Did she get burned?” My words rush out, tumbling over one another.

“No, she didn’t. I appears she was under the cruciatus curse for a very long time, and there has been extensive damage to her nervous system. She’s on the fourth floor—spell damage. The healers are keeping her in a coma for the time being so they can assess the damage, and to give her mind some time to recover.

“So she’s going to be okay?” I don’t like the look in Mr Potter’s eyes. They glint with pity.

“I’m afraid the healers won’t know the extent of the damage until she wakes up.” 

I slump against the headboard of my bed, wanting nothing more than to curk up into a ball and cry my eyes out but not wanting to collapse into a ball of misery until Mr Potter is gone and I’m alone.

Alone.

Without Nana, if she didn’t wake up, if she wasn’t okay… I would be completely  _ alone. _

“Miss Payne, do you have any relatives, or maybe a friend who you can stay with for the rest of the holidays?” 

“Um—” thinking about this, contemplating something as mundane as who I can stay with, seems ridiculous when my grandmother is in a  _ coma _ —where else would I want to be but here?—but I try.

“Maybe—my Aunt Viv? She’s a friend of my grandmother.” 

“Is she a muggle?” Mr Potter asks, and I nod.

“Does she know you’re a witch?” I shake my head, and Mr Potter makes an expression that I can tell means I won’t be permitted to stay with Aunt Viv. 

“There are measures that need to be taken to ensure your safety, so you need to stay with either someone magical, or a muggle who knows. Is there anyone else?”

“No, no one. Could I stay at Hogwarts?” Mr Potter just looks at me for a moment. Whatever he sees makes him look sad. I avert my eyes awkwardly and fiddle with the ends of my hair.

“We’ll arrange you somewhere secure to stay,” he says decisively.

“Somewhere secure?” I parrot.

“Somewhere you can be safe from Alexander Payne,” he elaborates. I’m grateful that he doesn’t say ‘from your father.’ 

“Wouldn’t Hogwarts be safe?” Most of the professors will still be there…” I mutter. 

“If you’re a prime target—and unfortunately, after what you’ve told me, I suspect you _are—_ we’d rather not lure him towards Hogwarts where other students will be. Even if it’s only for the rest of the holidays, we’d like to keep your location secret from him.”

I frown. Thinking about it, his reasoning doesn’t make sense to me. Mr Potter seems to sense my reservation.

“What’s the matter?”

Normally, I wouldn’t have the audacity to tell  _ the  _ Harry Potter how to do his job, but thanks to the Veritaserum, I don’t have a choice. 

“It’s just that—if I was at Hogwarts, then at least the aurors would have an idea of where he’d probably pop up next, and wouldn’t the students be safe as long as they stayed within the grounds? Couldn’t you get more aurors stationed at Hogwarts for added security? You could use me as bait—”

“Miss Payne—” Mr Potter interrupts, and my mouth snaps shut. I brace myself for him to be angry, cringing and staring down at the bed. “You have to understand that your safety is our number one priority. I can’t condone using an underage student as bait for anything. The best thing for you is staying at a safe undisclosed location so you can recover from everything that’s happened.” 

I peek up at his face. He doesn’t look mad, and he’d sounded calm. Kind. 

“Yes, sir,” I acknowledge. 

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements and I’ll be back to fetch you tomorrow, alright?” he continues. “Did you have any other questions?”

“Does anyone know what happened to my cat? His name is COsmic Creepers. He’s black with yellow eyes and he’s fluffy.”

“Yes, we did find him. He’s okay, he’s being cared for.” 

“Thanks goodness,” I breathe. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost both of them. Lost the will to live probably. How depressing.

“When will I be able to see my grandmother?” I ask nervously. 

“Tomorrow morning before I come get you, but I’m afrid you’ll need ti stay where we put you until either we’ve caught him, or the school holidays end,” he says kindly. 

“Also, how long have I been here?”

“About a day. The healers had to work on you for a few hours; you were in a bad way when you were brought here.

“Thank you,” I blurt out suddenly. Harry Potter quirks and eyebrow.

“It’s just—"  I rush to explain “—you’ve been very kind to me, despite, well, you know,” I finish lamely. 

“I don’t think I do know…” he replies slowly. “Look Miss Payne, you saved my daughter’s life, and I’ll be indebted to you for that always. The very least I owe you is kindness, so please don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need any help.” It’s so sincere…

I look away from his piercing green gaze and I hear the chair scrape back as he stands.

“Get some rest, and I’ll come collect you tomorrow.”

From nowhere, exhaustion hits me.

“Alright. Bye,” I mumble.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him I drop the facade of being okay and cry myself to sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next day a healer looks over my wound left from the splinch and declares me basically as good as new. I still have a raised pink scar that runs all the way down my side, but she assures me that it will fade and would be like nothing had ever happened as long as I remember to apply a minty smelling potion topically to the area for the next week. It comes in a bright blue tube.

She also has me take a numbing potion which should help with the pain. It doesn’t really bother me unless I try to move too quickly or twist my torso, but I take it anyway. The way the healer looks at me makes it clear it isn’t optional.

After that I visit Nana on the fourth floor and have a good cry at her bedside; I’m surprised I even have tears left after the night before. The healer assures me that they are doing all they can for her. It’s unnatural to see her so still; we’ve shared a bedroom for as long as I can remember and Nana has always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning constantly through the night.

I return to my room and await my collection after extracting a promise from one of the healers that I be contacted as soon as Nana regains consciousness. 

True to his word, Mr Potter comes back to fetch me in the late afternoon.

It was only when Mr Potter steps into my room that I realise I have nothing. As in, no worldly possessions aside from my wand and the hospital gown available to me at the moment. I have no idea what happened to the clothes I arrived in, and they’re probably covered in blood anyways. Everything else would have been burned down with the house, or is at Hogwarts in my dormitory…

Oh dear.

Another man with bright blue hair follows Mr Potter into the room, and it takes me a moment to place him because I haven’t seen him in five years—Teddy Lupin, head boy when I was first year. I never interacted with him directly, but he always seemed kind. One very clear memory I have of him is a time I saw him in the library patiently helping another first year with their homework. 

“Miss Payne, this is Mr Lupin,” says Mr Potter, as Mr Lupin gives me a curt nod. “He’s another Auror and we are here to escort you to your accommodation for the holidays. Before we go, we, er, have something for you.”

Mr Potter pulls a miniature trunk from his brest pocket and sets it in the floor beside my bed. He taps it with his wand and it expands until it isn’t miniature anymore. It’s my trunk. It looks a little crispy around the edges, but it seems to have escaped the blaze relatively undamaged. 

“We managed to salvage this,” Mr Potter explains.

I stare at it gormlessly with my mouth open in surprise. That is incredibly kind and thoughtful of them.

“Thank you, so much,” I say. It makes me feel like crying again, people being kind always makes me teary. It doesn’t happen all that often. 

“We’ll give you a moment to change. Just come out when you’re ready.”

Both men beat a hasty retreat and the door shuts behind them with a click.

After changing into some of my own clothes (a flowy pink skirt with a lacy white shirt) I feel a bit more like myself.

“Ready then?” asks Mr Potter when I open the door.

I nod, pulling my trunk behind me. 

“Great. Now I’m going to cast a disillusionment charm on you, and then you’re going to hold onto Mr Lupin’s arm and follow us out of here, okay?”

I nod again, and then Mr Potter taps me on the head. A curious sensation flows over my body as if Mr Potter had cracked an egg on my head. I have to resist the urge to reach up and pat my own head to check.

I look down and gasp; I’m  _ invisible.  _

“Now take a hold of my arm, Miss Payne,” says Mr Lupin kindly, holding out an elbow jokingly like a nineteenth century gentleman. I tentatively grip the fabric of his robe at the elbow. 

Mr Potter taps my trunk, shrinking it back down to the size of a toy, before pocketing it.

He stands on my other side so I’m sandwiched between him and Mr Lupin.

We aren’t expecting any trouble today, this is just an extra precaution you understand.” I nod, forgetting they can’t see me.

“That’s fine,” I amend out loud.

“Good, follow us.” 

* * *

  
  


I am led to a muggle car park on the street outside St Mungo’s. I only have a moment to marvel at the fact that St Mungo’s is concealed behind what looks like a muggle department-store undergoing renovations, before Mr Lupin opens the door to the back seat and whispers for me to get in. 

He gets into the front passenger seat after that, and Mr Potter slides into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and pulls away from the curb smoothly.

It’s a little surreal sitting in a car that is being driven by Harry Potter. His reputation makes it seem too… powerful and important to be doing something as mundane as driving a car. 

“You can just relax back there, it’ll take a few hours to reach our destination,” says Mr Potter, green eyes peering back at me through the reverse mirror. 

The next thing I know my arm is being shaken by Mr Lupin. I’d fallen asleep for the whole journey; maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought I was. The invisibility charm had worn off and I can see myself again. 

“Come in, we’re here,” he says, offering me a hand to pull me out of the car. I accept his help sleepily.

Mr Potter and Mr Lupin start walking towards an empty snow covered field. 

“Er… where are we?” I ask nervously, wringing my hands. 

“Oh! We haven’t given it to her yet, Harry.”

“Sorry, you can’t see a thing yet, here.” Mr Potter pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. 

I unroll the parchment.

_ 7 Knightstone Lane _

_ Ottery St Catchpole _

_ Devon _

I read the words through twice. Something about them makes the empty snow field look weird, and I can’t help but stare. It’s like I’m viewing the scene through a camera, and gradually someone is changing the focus, making an image come into sharp relief.

It’s a huge blur at first, but after a minute a dirty great big house solidifies and sharpens before my eyes right in the middle of the field. 

It’s made of red brick, with a sloped roof that is charmingly covered in snow. I can see tufts of smoke trailing out from a chimney. It’s nearing nightfall, and quite a few stars are out already, and much brighter than I’m used to in the city. The house looks like it belongs on the front of a Christmas card. All it lacks is a Santa Claus and some reindeer silhouette against the light of the moon to complete the impression. 

I jump in surprise when the piece of paper in my hand suddenly bursts into flames and crumbles into cinders. The ashes slip through my loose grip and get lost in the wind. 

“Come on,” calls Mr Lupin. 

I follow him and Mr Potter up to the front door. The door is darker red than the bricks, and has a festive wreath of holly above the mail slot. 

Mr Potter withdraws a key from one of his pockets and lets us all in. Inside the house, Cosmic Creepers comes trotting over from around a corner.

“Cat-face! You’re alright!” I exclaim. At the sound of my voice he looks up, lets out a meow, and runs towards me. I gasp in delight and kneels down as he launches himself into my arms.

“Is that his name? I’ve been calling him fluffy,” remarks Mr Lupin wryly.

“His name is actually Cosmic Creepers, Cat-face is just his nickname,” I reply, scratching the top of his head as he purred happily. 

“How about we all sit down and have a cup of tea, and we’ll explain some things to you,” suggests Mr Potter.

“I’ll fix the tea, Harry.”

“Thanks, there are some of your grandmother’s biscuits in the tin—”

“Brilliant!”

Ten minutes later the three of us are seated in the lounge in front of a merrily burning fire, and I have Cosmic Creepers on my lap, with a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate chip biscuit in the other.

“So this is my house,” states Mr Potter. I’m glad I haven’t started eating for drinking yet.

“This is—I—I’m staying at  _ your  _ house?” I splutter. 

“Yes.”

“As in,  _ you  _ live here, with your family?”

“Yes, Miss Payne. I live here with my family.” Mr Potter looks amused at my reaction.

“I shouldn’t be staying with you,” I blurt, and then immediately regret blurting. 

“Why not?” asks Mr Lupin. Both of them look at me expectantly, and when I look down, even Cosmic Creepers even gives me a judgmental look. 

“You said I’m a target, and—and I told you yesterday that your whole family are also targets. Won’t I just…” 

“Won’t you just what?” prompts Mr Potter.

“Won’t I just—just  _ add  _ to that danger?” 

Plus who really wants to stay with a family when your deranged sperm donor has literally tried to kill that family’s youngest and most vulnerable member? Mr Potter seems rather nice and understanding, but I doubt that would extend to the rest of them. How can I even face Lily Potter again after what happened? 

If I were her, the sight of me would generate nightmares. I know the sight of her will probably give me indigestion from guilt. 

“You’ll be perfectly safe, this house has been placed under the fidelius charm,” says Mr Potter calmly. I frown; Mr Potter misunderstood me. It’s not  _ my  _ safety that I’m concerned about being compromised…

“I just don’t want to be an inconvenience, sir,” I say meekly. I wish they’d dropped me off at Hogwarts, or even left me at the hospital. 

“Does the rest of your family know I’ll be here?” I ask. 

“Yes, they’ll be here tomorrow morning,” states Mr Potter. He doesn’t say where they are, but I think it’s a pretty safe bet that some of them are at St Mungo’s with Lily still. 

“Now I need your word that you will stay here within the confines of this house unless accompanied by myself or another Auror. I cannot stress enough how important it is that you stay here.” Mr Potter’s vivid green eyes bore into mine like a drill. It’s not a pleasant feeling; it’s like he’s examining my soul.

“Yes, sir,” I acquiesce, looking down at my lap to break the uncomfortable eye contact. 

“Because of the Fidelius charm you won’t be able to tell anyone your location, and I’d rather keep the details of what happened last night to yourself. That being said, was there anyone you want to contact? We have an owl you could borrow,” says Mr Potter.

I shake my head. The only person I want to contact is Nana, and seeing as she can’t currently read or reply to any message I might send, it would be an exercise in futility and desolation for me. 

“Mr Lupin is going to be here for the rest of the night. If you need anything, just ask him. You will be staying here for the duration of the Christmas holidays, so if there’s anything you need, or anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask. Did you have any questions?”

I do actually, just one.

“Is there any chance I can visit my grandmother at some point? The healers said they’d owl if there are any changes but I’d still like to visit if possible.” 

“It depends on how this case develops, but someone should be able to take you, either before or just after Christmas.” 

We finish our biscuits and tea quietly, with Mr Potter and Mr Lupin occasionally asking me questions about how I’m getting on at Hogwarts. Things like “what subjects are you taking?” and “how are you getting on in herbology?” It’s a little awkward and a little forced because I’m no good at small talk with magical folk; a lack of practice I figure. I’m alright with muggles because I know they know nothing about the sperm donor, so the conversation isn’t covered in potential landmines. 

After that Mr Potter shows me to the room I’m staying in.

“You’re in the same year as my son James, so you might know him?” I nod at Mr Potter when he looks at me expectantly. The question is redundant, but I suppose that Mr Potter has no way of knowing that;  _ everybody  _ knows who James Potter is. 

“You’ll be taking his room, he and Albus can share,” he says casually. 

_ What.  _ He wants me to force James Potter out of his room to share with Albus Potter? 

“Oh, I couldn’t take his room. I—I can sleep on the couch, really I would prefer—” Mr Potter cuts off my protests.

“I insist Miss Payne, don’t worry about the boys, I’m sure they’ll manage just fine,” says Mr Potter firmly. He says the second part like it is an untruth he is fervently hoping to miraculously convert into a truth. Or maybe that’s just me projecting…

I mean, I am definitely not the most up-to-date person when it comes to Hogwarts gossip, but even  _ I  _ know putting them in forced proximity is asking for the house to be demolished.

I peer around Mr Potter into James Potter’s room. It’s rumpled, with a Gryffindor themed bed set and Quidditch posters all over the walls. There is a double bed against one wall, and a desk pushed up against the opposite.

Mr Potter unshrinks my trunk and leaves it just inside by the door, before casting a spell that makes the bed shed its sheets and then remake itself with clean linen. 

When the spell is complete, Cosmic Creepers jumps up on the bed, quite happy to make himself comfortable. 

“If you need anything, just ask. Teddy will be here at your disposal tonight,” says Mr Potter. “I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

“Thank you,” I say to his retreating back. 

Now that I’m alone, I examine the room a bit more closely. Sue me, I’m curious. 

There are two Hollyhead Harpies posters, and three for the Chudley Cannons. It’s a little dizzying watching all the players swooping and diving. The desk is covered in knick-knacks; bits of parchment, quills in varying states of broken, chocolate frog cards, regular muggle cards, school textbooks from our previous years. There’s a large bay window that covers the expanse of one wall, with thick velvet navy curtains that appear to be dusted with sparkles. It makes them look like the night sky in curtain form, and I can’t help but think about how cool it would be to have a cloak or a dress made of starry fabric like that. Somehow I think James Potter would notice if I stole his curtains and started wearing them though, so I push that thought from my brain.

Outside the window I can’t see much now that night has properly fallen; I’ll have to check out the view once the sun comes up. 

All in all the room is very nice. Much larger and nicer than the room Nana and I share in our tiny flat. It feels very strange to be here. 

I sit down gingerly on the edge of James Potter’s double bed. It’s just as comfortable and soft as the Hogwarts four-poster beds.

My splinched side aches in protest as I slip off my shoes and lay back on the red duvet against the pillows.  _ So _ comfy…

I don’t mean to drift off to sleep, but the next thing I know there are beams of sunlight slanting across the room through the window, and my side is killing me. 

That healer had been right after all, I  _ do _ need that numbing potion. 

Very carefully I get up and shuffle over to my trunk. After some rummaging I manage to find the potion bottle and the bright blue tub of cream. I take a hearty swig of the former, before very gingerly peeling off my crumpled white lace top to slather a thick coat of cream on my side. It instantly feels much better, magic is the  _ best. _

I rummage through my trunk a little more for an outfit to wear— seeing as it is now apparently morning—and pull out a navy corduroy skirt, a white t-shirt and an oversized cable knit navy cardigan. 

Have I mentioned that I like clothes? In particular, I like  _ my  _ clothes. Practically everything I own comes from second hand stores and op-stops. When I was younger and Nana was more spry, she used to alter things to fit me properly.

Now I alter things myself, sometimes very drastically, but always with magic. I’ve experimented heavily over the years at Hogwarts with various charms, not only for physically manipulating clothes (sewing machines don’t work at Hogwarts because there aren’t any power points), but for making clothes more useful and magical. 

I’ve charmed all my skirts except the especially long ones to never flip up or flash, everything is charmed to adjust to the weather, I charm my pockets to be feather-light and I magically enlarge them.

I’ve experimented with colour-changing charms, and other wacky effects, but never permanently because I need everything to fit in in the Muggle world which is the main place I get to wear my clothes seeing as we’re stuck in boring black robes at Hogwarts.

After I’ve dressed, I straighten the covers on the bed and put away the bottle of pain reliever and cream. 

I force my hair back into two French braids with no way of knowing if they’re even or not because James Potter’s room lacks a mirror. 

I decide to venture out and get my morning ablutions out of the way. I pat Cosmic Creeper’s sleeping head for luck on my out—he’s curled up in the sun on the seat of the bay window—and it must work because I don’t meet anyone in the hallway and the bathroom is fortuitously free.

Nonetheless I wash my face and brush my teeth quickly. I’m pleased to find that my braids are acceptably even, and that my eyes aren’t  _ too  _ puffy from all the crying I did the day before. 

After all that is done, I find myself at a loss for what to do. I’m a bit hungry, but if no one is up, I don’t really feel comfortable raiding the kitchen without permission. 

I creep downstairs and I don’t hear a peep from behind any of the doors I walk past.

I find Mr Lupin seated at the kitchen table frowning as he reads the newspaper. He’s wearing the same clothes from the night before, and he looks tired and worn out to the point that his hair is barely blue, more of a muted brown. 

“Good morning,” I say haltingly. Mr Lupin looks up from his newspaper, before folding it up and quickly shoving it out of sight. Hm… 

“Good morning, did you sleep alright? You didn’t come back down for dinner so I decided to just let you sleep.”

“Slept like a rock, thanks,” I reply. “Would it be okay if I fixed myself a cup of tea?” I ask. 

“Of course! Here, you take a seat and I’ll fix us both a cup. After all, I know where everything is. Are you hungry? There’s cereal.” Embarrassingly my stomach decides to chime in at that moment and growls loudly. I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Er, yes please. Cereal would be great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No no, I’ve got it, you just take a seat. Milk and sugar?”

“Just sugar please, thanks.”

It feels a bit awkward to sit down and let someone that I barely know go to so much trouble. I fidget with the sleeve of my cardigan and stare at the pattern on the table cloth (it’s crochet) until Mr Lupin makes both a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal float over and neatly touch down in front of me.

He comes and sits back down at the table with his own cup of tea. Instead of resuming his perusal of the newspaper, he watches me eat. 

“The others will be back in an hour or so. Harry and Ginny are at St Mungo’s with Lily, they sent a message saying the healers are prepared to discharge her this morning.”

“That’s good! I’m really glad she’s okay,” I reply between mouthfuls. 

“Albus and James are at their Grandparents’ place at the moment, they’ll come back around the same time,” continues Mr Lupin. 

I nod. I’m still a bit nervous about their reaction to me. I can’t help but feel like I’m going to be a burden.

“You and James are both sixth years, have you got any classes together?” asks Mr Lupin.

“Er, yeah we do. Both P surnames, you know?” Mr Lupin nods. He would understand because it was the same when he attended; from fifth year onwards our classes are divided up alphabetically, and not by house. It’s meant to encourage us to broaden our friendships to include people from other houses or something. Seeing as I failed to even make proper friends in my own house, my own horizons remain rather limited, but I expect it works for some people. 

“We have transfiguration, potions, defense, herbology, and charms together. Oh, and apparition I suppose, although we’ve only had one lesson so far,” I explain. 

“I should’ve asked what classes you don’t have together,” jokes Mr Lupin. I smile.

“He must not take history or arithmancy, those are the other two classes I take.” 

Despite being in the same classroom for many hours a day, I’ve never really interacted with James Potter. He’s very popular and always sits with the other popular kids whereas I tend to sit alone actively trying to go unnoticed. 

“You’re taking arithmancy to NEWT level?” asks Mr Lupin, breaking me out of my reverie. I nod. I like numbers; they’re actually quite friendly once you get the hang of them, and I find it satisfying to solve the problems Professor Vector gives us. 

“You must be mad. I remember taking it in my third year, attending the first lesson, and straight away wishing I picked divination or something instead—” Mr Lupin launches into an amusing anecdote about Professor Vector and I finish my cornflakes. 

I take my dishes to the sink once I’m finished and wash them, before placing them on the drying rack. I would dry them and put them away—I can see a tea towel hanging from a hook—but I don’t know where to put things away. I hope no one minds… but just in case; “is it alright if I leave this here, Mr Lupin? I’m not sure where it’s meant to go back, sorry,” I say. 

“It’s perfectly fine where it is.” He waves me off. 

“Is there anything you guys need me to do? Er, anything I should be doing?” I continue awkwardly. 

“Well if you have any homework it might be a good idea to start, otherwise, it’s the holidays. You can do whatever you like within reason as long as you stay in the house.”

“Okay, I’m just going to go—” 

I’m cut off by emerald green fire suddenly roaring to life in the fireplace grate. I’m astonished when a  _ body  _ stumbles out of the flames.

“James!” exclaims Mr Lupin; he’s surprised too.

It takes me a moment to remember that floo powder is a thing. Up until now it’s been a thing I’ve heard of in theory, but never seen in practice. I expected it to be less… violent. And less green. 

James Potter sneezes twice as he tries to brush off some of the soot that clings to him. 

“Wotcher, Teddy. Are mum and dad back yet?” he asks. Mr Lupin shakes his head.

“No, you’re early. They should be back soon.”

“Have you heard anything from them yet?”

“Lily’s going to be discharged—”

I feel a bit like I’m intruding so I decide to make myself scarce by going back to my—James Potter’s actually—room.

The first stair on the landing creaks loudly and James Potter suddenly cuts Mr Lupin off mid sentence to yell; “Oy, what the bloody hell is  _ she _ doing here?!” I turn to face them to find that James Potter has his wand leveled at my throat. He’d moved across the room  _ very  _ quickly.

Standing on the first step means James and I were about level, but he still seems to tower over me. I’m not surprised, I know very well that anger can make people seem bigger and taller and more menacing than they would be otherwise.  
“James, don’t be daft, lower your wand,” orders Mr Lupin sternly.

I raise my hands in front of myself defensively. “I’m sorry, they brought me here—”

“Well they have a lot of nerve considering what your old man tried to do to my sister!” 

Green flames roar to life again and another body steps out into the living room—Albus Potter.

“Er, what’s going on?” he splutters through a mouthful of cinders.

“Expelliarmus,” intones Mr Lupin calmly. He catches James’s wand deftly with his left hand.

“James, Albus, sit down.” His tone brooks no argument. 

James looks mutinous but he does as he’s told nonetheless, choosing to take a seat on the sofa that faces where I’m standing so he can continue glaring at me. 

Albus hasn’t noticed my presence yet, and he goes and sits in an armchair looking very lost.

“Miss Payne, I’m really sorry about James’s behaviour. How about you go up to James’s room, just while I explain?”

I nod shakily and beat a hasty retreat. I’m not fast enough to miss how the Potter brothers react, though.

“What’s  _ she _ doing here?!” exclaimed Albus at the same time that James yells, “What do you mean go to  _ my room?!” _

Once I’m safely tucked away in James’ room with the door firmly shut I can’t make out what’s being said. 

Even though I anticipated garnering this sort of reaction, it still sort of stings. I would be nice if for once people could realise that I’m a separate entity from my father. I think about Nana and my eyes well up, and then before I know it I’m leaking all over James Potter’s quilt.

_ Serves him right, _ I think spitefully, although truthfully I’m annoyed that I seem to be turning into a watering-pot. I’ve never been very weepy before. 

I take deep breaths, trying to force myself to be calm. I need a distraction.

I comb through my trunk for something to occupy myself with. I find a set of doilies I was going to gift to Nana for Christmas. I made them myself by crochet. I very nearly burst into tears again, but I shove them down and pull out my left-over yarn and a crochet needle. 

I settle myself on the bed and very determinedly start crocheting. 

Cosmic Creepers wakes up briefly to investigate the yarn and make sure it’s still dead from the last time he attacked it. He deems it sufficiently lifeless before resettling himself in my lap.

My hands work on autopilot, and as I stare at what they’re doing I realise that I’m making a granny square. It was the first thing Nana taught me how to crochet… 

I don’t know how much time passes, but my square is about halfway done when there comes a knock at the door. 

I hurriedly wipe at my eyes. I wish I hadn’t braided my hair because if it were loose I could have hidden behind it. 

“Come in,” my voice sounds strained and high-pitched. 

James Potter opens the door. 

I can feel him looking at me, but I determinedly avert my eyes and stare at my crochet needle. Neither of us says a word. I decide to break the silence before the tension gets too much for me to stand.

“Sorry do you need your room back? I can go-”

“No!” he exclaims.

I shut up quickly, and finally look up at him, worried that he’s going to yell at me some more, but he just looks sheepish. He runs a hand through his unruly hair nervously. 

“What I meant to say is that Teddy explained everything and I… I’m sorry. For what I said.”

I blink. That was unexpected, he sounded sincere.

“That’s okay,” I reply. 

He nods once and then retreats, closing the door behind himself.

…Maybe staying here wouldn’t be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the typos!


	4. Chapter 4

I always knew I had my father’s eyes despite never having seen him because I _had_ seen photos of my mother. Her eyes were a warm cinnamon, whilst mine are a cold grey. 

I never thought of them as cold until I started at Hogwarts though, and discovered what he did. I saw his picture in an old newspaper clipping and it was a bit of a shock to see my own eyes look so cruel and calculating. I suppose that when witches and wizards look at me, all they see is a pair of cold grey eyes.

In every other way I take after my mother, and she doesn’t look much like Nan so Nan and I were often an odd pair when I was growing up. 

Nan is very fair, and her now white hair used to be blonde when she was younger. She came from a posh family but we don’t have any contact with any of them and she never talks about them because her parents essentially disowned her when she married my grandfather, an immigrant from Haiti called Etienne Durand. 

It wasn’t the fact that he was Haitian that Nan’s family objected to; it was the fact that he was black. 

They met when Nan was in France on holiday and he followed her back to England. They were married six months later and then four months after that they had my mum. 

My mum had dark olive skin, and thick wavy very dark brown hair, and I’m exactly the same. I even get dimples when I smile like she did.

When I look at photos of her when she was younger I find it hard to believe that she would take her own life because she looked so happy and vivacious. 

She used to radiate energy and vitality my Nan always said, and then she met my father and everything spiraled downwards. 

I wish I’d inherited my mother’s eyes.

* * *

Well, I know why I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor. I very bravely hide in James Potter’s room until Cosmic Creepers gets up and starts plaintively meowing and scratching at the door. When I ignore him and very determinedly continue crocheting, he jumps up and paws at one of my plaints. 

“Fine, fine. You win, Cat-Face.” 

I’ve been sitting so long in one position that my muscles are all cramped. I wince as I try to shake the pins and needles out of my legs. As soon as I open the door, Cosmic Creepers rushes out. 

He meows at me from further down the hallway, tail twitching impatiently. He pads along silently when I start to follow, and makes his way down the stairs with a confidence I wish I felt, or could at least emulate. I hear voices drifting up before I see anyone.

“-sure we can’t tell anyone?”

“ _None_ of your friends.”

“Not even Scorpius?”

I peek around the balustrade and see that Mr Lupin is gone. Mr Potter has returned with the rest of his family. 

The Potter family are seated around the circular dining room table. All I can see of Mr and Mrs Potter are their backs, but Lily is sat between her brothers, looking very small and pale. 

James’ arm is slung across the back of her seat casually, and as I watch, he sneaks a concerned glance at her. 

“Want another biscuit, Lily? Nana made your favourite,” asks Albus solicitously. 

“Al and I had to protect them with our lives, Uncle Ron and Uncle George were there and you know how they are. It’s amazing we managed to bring back this many,’ quipps James.

Lily cracks a smile at that, which causes both Albus and James to beam. Until they catch sight of me that is. Mr and Mrs Potter turn in their seats to face me. 

I’ve never met Mrs Potter in person before; I’ve only seen her picture in the Daily Prophet. Her hair is the same shade of red as Lily’s, and her eyes are the same shape and colour as James’—a very bright brown that looks like someone has collected brown shards of glass and shined a very bright light through them. 

Mrs Potter is very pretty, even when her mouth is pressed into a severe line that reminds me of Headmaster McGonagall. 

Cosmic Creepers breaks the silence by jumping onto James’ lap and meowing loudly. 

“Er, sorry, he’s hungry,” I blurt. 

When James just stares at him and makes no move to feed or pet him, Cosmic Creepers jumps onto Lily’s lap and starts pawing at her hair. 

“ _Cat-Face!_ Get down from there!” I scold nervously. 

Lily starts stroking his head. 

“It’s okay, I like cats,” she says. Cosmic Creepers tries to take a bite out of one of the biscuits sitting on the plate in front of her. He manages to break a chunk off, but then promptly decides that he did _not_ like it, and spits it back out. He looks up at Lily mournfully and meows loudly. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m _so_ sorry.” I’m sure I look horrified, but Lily just starts laughing. 

Mrs Potter’s chair scrapes back as she stands. She surveys me imperiously for a moment, before her face relaxes into a strained smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“You must be Alexandra,” she says. 

“Please call me Sasha,” I blurt. “Thanks a lot for letting me stay, and I’m sorry about any inconvenience and er, sorry about well, everything, and er, I just wanted to feed my cat. Please. If that’s alright…” I say eloquently. 

“I’ll feed him!” volunteers Lily.

Her brothers watch with wide eyes as Lily gets up with Cosmic Creepers firmly in her grasp and flounces over to the kitchen and out of sight. Her head pops back out through the doorway.

“Mum, what do we feed him?”

“There’s a container in the fridge.”

“Got it!” Her red ponytail whips out of sight.

“Should I help—?” 

She’ll be fine,” says Mrs Potter. “How about you come take a seat? We’re just having lunch, are you hungry?” she asks politely. 

I _am_ actually hungry, come to think about it. I’m pretty sure they’re only asking out of obligation, they were probably secretly hoping I’d say no and leave them be. I can eat something later by myself.

“I’m okay, I had breakfast. I don’t want to intrude, I can just go—” 

“Nonsense, I know you last ate when Teddy was here and that was hours ago. Come and eat,” Mr Potter insists. 

Mrs Potter takes her seat again, and gestures that I sit beside her.

“Er, alright, if it’s okay. Thanks.” I sit down gingerly, very conscious of everyone’s eyes on my every moment. 

Mrs Potter starts dishing me up a plate; there was some sort of pasta and a crusty slice of bread. It smells heavenly. 

“How are you feeling?” asks Mr Potter sympathetically. I look at him quizzically.

“Your splinch?” he prompts. 

“Oh, yes. It’s fine now thanks.”

 _“Really?”_ asks James incredulously. I’m hoping it’s a rhetorical question because I don’t want to be the centre of attention anymore, but James is looking at me expectantly like he wants an answer. 

“They gave me numbing potion. It really feels fine now,” I say quickly. 

“When we saw dad for the first time after, well, _you know,_ he was covered in blood and we were worried it was his or Lily’s, but Teddy told us today it was _yours,”_ says Albus Potter, staring at me intently. There is something disarming about the boy’s eyes, they’re just so green. Like his father’s. I avert my eyes to my plate and tuck a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear nervously, just for something to do with my hands. I say the first thing that pops into my mind just to fill the awkward silence. 

“I’m, um, good with clothes. I know a few charms that could probably get rid of the stain if you like?” I peek a quick look at them from under my eyelashes. 

James and Albus look at me like I’m crazy for the suggestion and Mr and Mrs Potter exchange a meaningful glance.

“Why do you know how to clean _blood stains?”_ asks James Potter suspiciously. 

“Was that a joke?” demands Albus. 

“N-no, I wasn’t joking.” At the look on their faces I quickly rush to explain, “It’s just a lot of clothes from thrift stops don’t come in the best condition to start off with, and there are a lot of charms that can really help transform something old into something wearable…” I trail off and make the executive decision to _not_ explain the obvious reason why I, a girl, would know a thing or two about blood stains. I don’t have the face for it.

Both boys still look suspicious but unless my eyes deceive me Mr Potter looks sympathetic. Mrs Potter simply raises an eyebrow. 

“You two hush and let the poor girl eat,” she says sternly. 

“Yes, mum,” they both mumble. 

“James, why don’t you go get anything else you need out of your room while Sasha isn’t in there, and Al, go check that your sister isn’t feeding the cat something she shouldn’t.”

“But mum, cats can eat salmon can’t they? They like fish!” Lily calls from the kitchen. 

They obey her without question, chairs scraping back in unison as they stand. I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders as the number of people watching me halves. 

“Go ahead and eat, Sasha,” encourages Mrs Potter gently. I have no idea what is in the pasta but it’s delicious and I tell them as much. 

“You’re going to be here until school starts again in January so we want you to treat this place like home okay? Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything,” says Mr Potter. 

I nod and smile through a mouthful of pasta. 

After that Mr and Mrs Potter clear the table with magic before drifting off to other parts of the house, while Albus and Lily with Cosmic Creepers in her arms, wander out of the kitchen, good-naturedly arguing about suitable pet diets. I’m finally left to my own devices. I finish my food and then take my plate to the kitchen to clean and dry. 

There is a saucer on the floor surrounded by pink salmon flesh so I pick it up and wash it too, before I wipe up the salmon with a paper towel. 

I’m a bit at a loss for what I should be doing. I wish I was back at our flat with Nana. 

The holidays I spend with Nan in the muggle world are the highlights of my year. No one in the muggle world cares who I am or who my father is. At home and at Hogwarts I understand my place and what’s expected of me, I know what the rules are.

In the Potter household I still haven’t figured that out and it’s putting me on edge even though everyone has been perfectly nice so far. I have this feeling in my chest that it’s only a matter of time until I am put in my place, and the longer that takes to happen, the antsier I feel.

I amble aimlessly into the living room. The newspaper Teddy was reading earlier is folded neatly on the coffee table.

I don’t usually read the Daily Prophet, but it’s something to do. I unfold the paper and curl up in an armchair.

In hindsight, it’s a really bad idea to read the newspaper a few days after your father has escaped from Azkaban.

I see the picture first. It is a muggle picture taken when I was still in primary school; I’m smiling broadly despite my missing front two teeth. Where on Earth did they dig it up from? Are they allowed to print things like this without asking me? Without me even knowing?

Against my better judgement, I start to read. 

_Who is Alexandra Payne? Daughter of mass murderer Alexander Payne, she was raised by her grandmother after her mother allegedly committed suicide when Alexandra was just three years old. Muggle police reports show that the death was ruled a suicide despite many inconsistencies with evidence. Could it be that young Alexandra was following in her father’s footsteps right from her first bout of accidental magic? Was her mother her first victim? With her father freed from Azkaban, no doubt with her help, this author believes that the Payne father and daughter pose a real danger-”_

The paper is unceremoniously ripped from by hands by James Potter. 

“You should know better than to believe any of the crap that Chapman bloke spews up for the Daily Prophet,” he says, briskly folding the newspaper up and discarding it on the coffee table like it’s a piece of rubbish. 

“He… he wrote that I killed my mother,” I’m shocked. I can’t believe that someone can write something so blatantly made up, but on the other hand, ever since entering the wizarding world I’ve always had this huge worry at the back of my mind that I _will_ end up like him. It’s probably my worst fear. 

“Look,” says James, “that’s coming from the same guy who wrote that my mum was having an affair with Uncle Ne—I mean, Professor Longbottom. Don’t take him seriously, no one else does.” 

I appreciate his attempt at levity. He’s successfully distracted me from my own misery with the unpleasant image of Mrs Potter and Professor Longbottom… Ew. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. 

“How did Mr Potter react to that?” I ask with forced flippancy. I can collapse into a miserable mess when James Potter isn’t around actively trying to distract me. 

“He didn’t do anything, dad thought it was pretty funny actually, but mum works at the Daily Prophet for the Quidditch section and I’ve been informed from a number of reliable sources that she cast the mother of all Bat-Bogey hexes on him. Had to go to St Mungo’s to get it removed because it wouldn’t wear off.” I chuckle and to my own ears it sounds strained, but I don’t think James will notice. He doesn’t know me well enough to. 

“Bat-bogey hex huh? That sounds like a good one.”

“I know my dad is the ‘boy who lived’ and all that rot, but honestly, it’s my _mum_ who’s the intimidating one.”

“She seems really nice. They both do,” I offer. James runs a hand through his already very messy black hair. 

“Yeah well, I took some stuff out of my room so it’s all clear now okay? Er, bye,” he turns on his heel and abruptly retreats from the room like it’s on fire.

I wonder what I did to scare him off. I frown and think about the conversation, which is one of the most normal ones I’ve had with a student to date.

The newspaper on the coffee table catches my eye and I’m sorely tempted to continue reading where I left off, but I know whatever it says would likely upset me so I decide to retreat to my—or rather, James’—room. 

I catch Mr and Mrs Potter at the bottom of their stairs; they’re embracing each other. 

“I have to go to work, love,” murmurs Mr Potter.

“I know,” replies Mrs Potter simply. 

They break apart and spot me frozen in the doorway before I can scurry away in embarrassment.

“I’ll see you later, Sasha, remember to stay in the house,” says Mr Potter. 

“Um, yes, of course. Bye,” I offer, with an awkward bob. 

Mr and Mrs Potter stare at each other and seem to communicate something without words, and then Mr Potter leaves, closing the front door behind him with a click. I made to head up the stairs, but Mrs Potter halts me with words.

“Listen, Sasha. There’s something I need to tell you quickly,” she says.

“Sure,” I reply. 

“I know my husband told you to stay within the confines of the house for your safety, and you should absolutely obey him,” I nod, wondering where she’s going with this. 

“I’m going to warn you about a scenario which will make remaining in the house unsafe for you.” She steps closer to me, right into my personal space, and grips the top of my arm to prevent me from flinching away. Although she isn’t much taller than I am, she seem to tower above me. 

Her voice drops lower and takes on a more menacing tone. “If you endanger any of my family, or give me any reason to suspect that you are in league with your father, I’m going to expect you to leave. If you do not do so of your own volition I will remove you and it won’t be pleasant. Harry seems to believe your stories… I’m undecided, and I will be watching you,” she releases my arm and steps back.

The antsy feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop is gone. Now I just feel hollow and sick to my stomach.

Lily’s head pops over the banister of the stairs, breaking the tension.

“Mum! Are there any more of those biscuits left?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Come down here and you can have some,” says Mrs Potter like nothing had happened. 

Lily rushes down the stairs and the two of them go off to the kitchen.

I drag myself up to James’ room and close the door behind me. 

I feel like crying again, but tears don’t come. I think I’m cried out, absolutely wrung of emotion. I know on an intellectual level I should have expected something like that, that Mrs Potter was completely justified in wanting to protect her family, but the thought that they might need protecting from _me_ made me feel physically ill. 

I want my grandmother with me so bad that her absence hurts. 

I try to look on the bright side; at least now I know where I stand.

I spend the rest of the day crocheting furiously.

The sun goes down.

No one asks me to come down for dinner.

I stay in the room. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have no expectation of readership for this story because it is in the middle of a Venn diagram of too many things people hate, namely: first person POV, an oc main character, and it's gen. But I figured that seeing as I wrote it, I may as well post it. lol 
> 
> To the probably 1 or 2 people who read this all the way to the end, well done, you made it :D


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